Chapter 18
OOH, I LOVE WATCHING HUMANS SQUIRM IN BUREAUCRATIC LIMBOS!
"They're coming," Grayson's voice sliced through the chaos, his body tensing as he moved between me and the door. "Division security. A lot of them."
Kearan's fingers dug deeper into my side. Not painful… protective. "Parker stays with us. The demon stays with Parker."
The pounding on the door thundered like a heartbeat, angry and insistent. Metal against metal, flesh against steel. Orders barked through the barrier, voices sharp with authority and that particular brand of military panic that tried to disguise itself as control.
"Division Security! Unlock this door immediately! We have authorization to use force!"
My legs trembled, threatening to buckle. The hollow space inside me where my demonic power had lived now ached like a phantom limb. I couldn't command anything right now… not a demon, not my own body, not the goddamn coffee maker.
"Open it," I managed, voice raw. "We need to contain her properly. This room won't hold."
Grayson's eyes met mine, steel gray and worried. Are you sure?
I nodded. No energy left for the telepathic bond. Just bone-deep exhaustion and the bitter taste of failure coating my tongue.
Kearan reached for the emergency override, his fingers dancing across the keypad. The locks disengaged with a heavy clunk, and the door slid open.
Six Division soldiers poured in, weapons raised, faces hidden behind tactical helmets.
Their movements were precise, practiced…
until they spotted Cerbie. The hellhound hadn't moved, still guarding the possessed woman, all three heads tracking the newcomers with predatory focus.
One soldier stumbled backward, his weapon wavering.
"Holy shit," he breathed. Another let loose a string of curses that would have made my father proud.
Their leader recovered faster than the others. "Stand down! We're taking the prisoner and the artifact. Director's orders."
Grayson shifted his stance, somehow making his lean frame fill more space. "The prisoner stays with us. Zandia's authority supersedes the director's."
"Bullshit," the captain snapped, but uncertainty flickered across her face. "We have direct orders—"
"Call Zandia," I interrupted, summoning strength I didn't have. "She'll confirm. This demon is under my jurisdiction."
The captain's jaw worked, her fingers tight on her weapon. I could practically hear the calculations running behind her eyes… the risk of defying Zandia versus the comfort of following standard protocol.
Mephistral, still perched on my shoulder, cackled softly. "Ooh, I love watching humans squirm in bureaucratic limbos! It's like watching cockroaches try to solve a Rubik's Cube!"
The captain's radio crackled. She stepped back, murmuring into it, eyes never leaving mine. After a tense moment, she lowered her weapon slightly.
"Confirmed," she said, voice clipped. "The prisoner remains in ST3 custody. But we'll provide escort to the containment chambers." Her gaze flicked to Cerbie, then back to me. "And that... thing... stays with you at all times."
Relief washed through me, leaving me even more drained. "Thank you."
Grayson squeezed my elbow gently. You okay to walk?
I straightened, pulling away from Kearan's support. I wouldn't be carried out of this room. Not in front of the Division security. Not in front of anyone. "I'm fine."
He knew I was lying. They both did. But neither called me on it.
The possessed woman had gone eerily still now, her eyes tracking me like a predator watching wounded prey. The demon was still in there, lurking beneath the surface. Waiting. I could feel it, even without my power. Her presence was a cold spot in reality, a wrongness that made my skin prickle.
Two soldiers hauled her up, keeping her firmly restrained. Cerbie growled, all three heads in perfect, menacing harmony.
"It's okay, boy," I murmured. "Stay close."
The hellhound huffed, seemingly insulted that I'd think he'd do anything else. Or maybe irritated because I was making him heel when he really wanted to do was eat the possessed woman.
Our procession moved through the compound like a bizarre parade… armed soldiers flanking a demon-possessed woman in restraints, followed by two supernaturally gifted men, a swaying half-demon, a three-headed hellhound, and a tiny imp who kept making obscene gestures at anyone who looked our way.
The containment chamber was deep in the belly of the compound, sealed behind three separate security checkpoints.
By the time we arrived, my vision had started to blur at the edges, darkness creeping in.
I leaned against the wall, trying to look casual, while the soldiers transferred the woman into the specialized cell…
A glass and steel cage carved with runes that glowed faintly blue.
"Will it hold?" I murmured, not entirely confident but too tired to voice my doubts.
"Better than anything else we've got." His voice was low enough that only I could hear it.
The cell sealed with a pneumatic hiss. The possessed woman pressed her freshly released palms against the glass, her expression placid now, almost serene, which contrasted with her earlier panic.
"Parker," she called, her voice unnaturally sweet. "We're not finished, you and I. This is just the beginning."
I turned away, unable to stomach the sight of her smug smile. "Let's go."
We had barely made it back to the main corridor when the air crackled with furious energy. The hairs on my arms stood up, static electricity dancing across my skin. I knew that feeling. That scent. Alpha rage and barely contained power.
Trux.
He rounded the corner like a force of nature, eyes blazing amber, canines bared. Not shifted, but close… teetering on the edge of his control. Behind him, two Division security officers backed away, clearly regretting whatever attempt they'd made to slow him down.
"What. The. FUCK. Were. You. THINKING?" Each word landed like a physical blow, his voice distorting at the edges. The Hesolga… Trux was at his breaking point.
I straightened, forcing my spine rigid despite the trembling in my legs. "I was doing my job."
Wrong answer. His nostrils flared, scenting my weakness, my exhaustion, and the lingering taint of demonic power still clinging to my skin.
"Your job?" He laughed, a sound with no humor, just broken glass and fury.
"Your job was to interrogate suspects, not fucking command demons!
Your job was to stay safe, not drain yourself playing with powers you don't understand!
" He stalked closer, each step precise, controlled, terrifying.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened? What still might happen?"
Mephistral vanished from my shoulder in a puff of smoke, suddenly finding urgent business elsewhere. Smart imp.
"Trux," Grayson's voice was steady, warning. "Back off."
But Trux wasn't listening. His focus was laser-sharp, drilling into me. "You could have died. You could have been possessed. You could have opened a door that can't be closed." His hands shook at his sides. "And for what? To prove you could do it? To impress Zandia?"
Each accusation hit like a slap. Because he wasn't entirely wrong. Part of me had reveled in the power, in the control. Part of me had thought of Zandia's approval. To be fair though, I hadn't asked for any of this. And I didn't have an inkling of what I was supposed to do.
"I had to," I said, voice small and tight. "The demon was gathering information. Has been for months. We have to know what it knows."
"So you risked everything? Without backup? Without a fucking plan?" His voice rose, echoing down the corridor. "You think your life is worth less than some intelligence? You think I can just watch you throw yourself into the fire and say nothing?"
"Enough!" Rhiot appeared behind Trux, his own eyes glowing with power. He grabbed Trux's shoulder, spinning him around. "Leave her alone. This isn't helping."
Trux snarled, shoving Rhiot back hard enough that he hit the wall. "Stay out of this."
"Or what?" Rhiot pushed off the wall, stepping into Trux's space. "You'll what, Trux? Take it out on me instead? Go ahead. I can take it." His voice dropped, dangerous. "But you touch her again, talk to her like that again, and I'll show you exactly what I learned in those years before you met me."
The threat hung in the air between them, loaded with history I didn't fully understand but could feel in the sudden stillness of Trux's body.
They squared off like predators circling for dominance, neither willing to back down. The surrounding air crackled with tension and old wounds ripped fresh.
My stomach twisted into knots. I'd never seen Trux like this—so close to the edge, so raw. His hands shook at his sides, and beneath the anger, I caught something else in his scent. Fear. Pure, primal fear. For me.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. He wasn't just angry. He was terrified. And that fear was eating him alive.
"Stop it," I whispered, then louder: "Stop it! Both of you!"
They froze, heads snapping toward me in perfect, eerie sync.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words scraping my throat. "I didn't plan it. The demon exposed itself, and I reacted. I didn't think—" My voice cracked. "I didn't think about how it would affect any of you. About what you'd feel watching."
The admission cost me. Admitting I'd been wrong, that I'd acted without considering my mates, left me feeling naked and vulnerable.
Trux's face contorted, anger warring with something softer, more broken. "Parker..." He took a step toward me, then stopped, hands still trembling.
"I'm fine," I said, even as my vision swam. "I just need to rest. The power will come back." I had to believe that. Had to.
The air around us suddenly shimmered, turning cold and metallic. The temperature dropped ten degrees in an instant, breath fogging in front of our faces. I knew what was coming before she materialized.
Zandia.
She appeared before us, not physically present but projected… a hologram with substance, her form wavering at the edges like heat distortion. Perfect as always, her hair swept back in that severe style that made her look like she'd never known a moment's doubt.
"Well done, Parker," she purred, her voice smooth as honey laced with poison. "Very well done indeed."
Trux growled low in his throat. Zandia didn't even glance at him.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "A demon infiltrator, exposed and captured. Valuable intelligence obtained. And a perfect demonstration of your... developing talents."
Cold dread settled in my stomach. "You knew." Not a question. A realization. "You knew there was a demon in ST5."
Her smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Let's call it a hypothesis. One that needed testing."
Fury burned through my exhaustion. "You used us as bait. You sent us in there, knowing what might happen."
"I sent you to do your job," she corrected, examining her perfect nails.
"Which you did, quite spectacularly. Your heritage is beginning to assert itself.
A bit unpredictably, perhaps, but that's to be expected.
After all..." Her gaze flicked briefly to Trux, then back to me.
"Your mother was exactly the same way. Untrained. Chaotic. Brilliant."
My mother. Eloise. "What do you know about her? About what happened to her?"
Zandia's projection flickered, her expression shuttering closed. "All in good time. For now, rest. Recover. Your power will return… perhaps sooner than you think." She glanced at the containment chamber down the hall. "And keep a close eye on your new pet. Demons rarely stay caged for long."
"Zandia!" I stepped forward, desperate and frustrated. "Tell me what you know. No more games. No more tests."
But her projection was already fading, her smile the last thing to disappear. "But Parker," her voice lingered after her image was gone, "the games have only just begun."
The emptiness she left behind ached with questions. Questions about my mother. About my powers. About what exactly Zandia was preparing me for.
I swayed on my feet, the last of my strength giving out. This time, I couldn't fight it when my knees buckled. But I didn't hit the floor.
Strong arms caught me… Kearan's, I realized with surprise. He was always so hesitant and shy until I needed him. Then he never disappointed me.
"I've got you," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "I've got you."
As darkness claimed the edges of my vision, I clung to those words. To the solid warmth of his body against mine. To the knowledge that whatever came next, I wasn't facing it alone.
Kearan lifted me easily, cradling me against his chest like I weighed nothing. "She needs rest," he said, the command in his voice brooking no argument. "No more investigations. No more demons. No more Division bullshit. Not today."
Through half-closed eyes, I saw Trux, Rhiot, and Grayson nod, flanking us as Kearan carried me away from the containment cells.
As consciousness slipped away, I knew with bone-deep certainty that Zandia was right. Whatever had started here… with the demon, with my power, with Zandia's games… it wasn't over.